Some Space
by NeverTrustTheDucks
Summary: Stiles' mother has been dead for 8 years. Today was the anniversary of her death, and all Stiles wanted was his mom...and some space. But he's part of a pack now, and they just won't leave him alone. Rated T 'cause I'm paranoid. Please use constructive criticism, no trash!
1. Chapter 1

I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS!

Being told that you have frontotemporal dementia is not something that you can take lightly. It's not like you can just smile and say "oh, well". Maybe you like to think you would say something like that, but you can't brace yourself for things like this. You are, in fact, expected to start crying and wailing that it's not fair, you still have a life to live, people to see and love so many things to do! That is actually what Stiles' mother had done when she had been told about her FTD. But she hadn't been crying and wailing for herself, but for her little boy, her little Szezcny, who was probably going to grow up without a mother. Stiles was seven when she was diagnosed, but he was incredibly smart for his age and had immediately run to the library to find out everything he could about FTD. And every passing day, his mother would grow weaker and weaker, until only a month after her diagnosis she was put in a Hospital bed that would two years later become her death bed.

Now, on the day that would make his mother's death count up to eight years, Stiles really wasn't in the mood for any of the werewolf crap going on in Beacon Hills.

So, since it was only 8 a.m. on Saturday, he thought he could have at least two hours of peace without the pack bothering him. He stared at the wall, trying to think about anything but his mom. All he really wanted to do was lock his bedroom door and window, close the curtains, curl into a ball and cry. But he couldn't, since there was always a chance that one of his wolfy friends stopped by and cracked the window open, not quite caring that there was probably a reason it was locked.

This is exactly what Scott did at 2 p.m., worried that something had happened to his best friend, who wasn't answering his messages or his calls. He found Stiles still on his bed, staring at the wall, aware that the werewolf had entered the room, but choosing to ignore him.

"Stiles?'' asked Scott, scared that something was wrong, ''what's wrong?''

He could just feel the grief and sadness and anger radiating off his friend. The ever-present anxiety was still there, but all the other emotions swirling around were slightly overpowering. Slightly.

Stiles didn't answer the question, but turned his big cinnamon colored eyes on Scott.

''Do you know what today is, Scott?'' he finally asked, voice raspy from unusual lack of use and grief. Scott was confused.

-Saturday…?

-Saturday 13th of August 2014. Eight years.

Scott winced. Oh. In all the training and commotion, he had forgotten that today was Stiles' mother's eighth anniversary of death. Stiles knew what was coming.

''Are you okay?'' he asked stupidly, knowing the answer before he asked the question.

Stiles didn't answer.

-Stiles…I'm sorry. Is there anything I-

''There's nothing you can do, Scotty'' interrupted Stiles, turning on his side so his back was to Scott, putting his arms around his stomach as if he was going to puke'' I'll be okay in a couple days, you know that. Just…please, just leave me alone.''

Scott heard and felt the plead, grief radiating off the boy like he was made of it. He sighed and jumped back on the windowsill, turning back just in time to see Stiles bury his face in his pillow, a sob escaping him, so quiet even with his werewolf hearing he had to strain his ears to hear it.

-Stiles, I-

''Scott, just go away!'' shouted Stiles, now openly crying, curling in on himself and rocking.

Scott felt his heart clench with sadness for his friend, and he silently climbed down, regretfully leaving his broken best friend to cry alone.

''So?'' asked Lydia when Scott came back from checking up on Stiles, head down and eyes sad.

-what?

-what is wrong with Stiles? Why wasn't he answering our calls?

-oh...N-nothing.

''you're lying.'' Said Isaac, who had overheard their conversation. Lydia turned to Scott, eyes flaring angrily.

-Scott. Tell me the truth. What is wrong with Stiles?

Scott sighed as he realized that the whole pack had gathered in the living room and was interested in the conversation.

-He just needs some space, that's all.

''why?'' asked Derek concerned for the human he now considered pack.

Scott bit his lip. Stiles was so going to kill him. After a moment, he sighed.

''Today's the anniversary of his mother's death'' he answered staring intently at the floor. '' eight years.'' Derek closed his eyes and swore under his breath. Liam sat on the floor, his face a mask of sadness. Isaac's shoulders slumped. Lydia gave a gasp.

'' I'm going to see him.'' She stated, starting for the door. Scott stopped her.

''wait.'' He said. '' I really think you should just give him some space. He's a mess, and he really needs this.''

'' Needs what?'' she asked exasperatedly.

'' This day.'' He answered calmly. Well, as calmly as Scott could say anything. '' Stiles doesn't let any of his emotions out, because of reasons I am not going to say, so don't even try. This day is the only where he just lets it all out. So just let him. He'll be back to normal in a couple days. OK?''

Lydia stared at the floor ''OK.'' She answered begrudgingly after a few moments.

Stiles was still in bed. Except now, he was on his stomach and he had his pillow over his head. No, he wasn't trying to suffocate himself. He was trying to suffocate the memories that had resurfaced after Scott had needed a reminder. Try as he might, the more bitter than sweet memories floated up.

His mother always loved to sing. She would sing regularly, and her voice would carry up from the kitchen, where she would be cooking breakfast, to his room, waking him up for school. She always sang in different languages, she was multi-lingual. She would always speak to him in multiple languages, so by the age of six, he had a perfect vocabulary of French, Spanish, Arabic and Russian and could speak all of them fluently. But her favorite language was French. He still remembered her song, the one she would sing when he was sad, it always cheered him up.

Tout au fond de l'océan.

J'irai chercher ton reflet.

J'arrêterai même le temps.

Que tu sois près de moi tout le temps.

Dévier les chutes du Niagara pour te prouver mon amour.

Traverser le Sahara.

Pour toi je ferai tout ça.

The song brought a fresh bout of tears to his eyes and he didn't even bother wiping the off. His mom was from a foreign country. She was originally French, but she loved learning and teaching new things, and she probably knew more languages than she taught him, but she probably realized five languages was enough for a six year old.

Nobody knew anything about his mom's personal life, not even Scott. By now, Stiles was full on sobbing. He and his mother were always very close. The languages were their little secret. She had plenty of secrets. ''One day'', she would tell him when he would ask her why all the secrets were necessary, ''one day, you will understand. You will not be able to help yourself from keeping your own secrets.''

After crying out all his tears in his poor bed, Stiles got up grudgingly to check his phone. 46 messages from Scott, 13 voicemails from Scott, and a measly 2 voicemails from his dad.

Speaking of his dad, where was he? Stiles had woken up at 5 a.m., and hadn't gotten out checking on him. Usually, when this day came around, you could be sure to find John Stilinski sitting in his living room with a bottle of scotch in his hands, looking at an old photo album. And usually, Stiles would hear him go down at 9 a.m. and come back up at 1:30. But it was 4 past, and there was no sign of his dad. He looked outside his window into the parking where his dad's squad car would normally be, and felt a tiny irrational feeling of anxiety.

The car wasn't there. He shook his head so he could think clearly. Maybe his dad just went to the cemetery. He took a deep breath and pressed on his dad's message, holding the phone up to his ear.

'' Hey, Stiles, it's dad. I wasn't sure if you were awake or not, so I left you a message. I'm at the cemetery, so don't panic if you don't find me. I'll call you back later.''

Stiles let the breath he had been holding out. He was right; his dad was just at the cemetery. He clicked on the second message and pressed the phone back up to his ear.

'' Hey…it's me again. Your grandma called, said she wants me to go to a stupid family reunion tomorrow, so I'm driving up today. I've got some stuff over at her house in case anything like this ever happens. I guess she's just trying to get my mind off things. She asked if you could come too, but I said you weren't feeling it. You're welcome. See you Monday kid.''

Stiles removed the phone from his ear and went on to read Scott's messages. They were mostly the same.

You OK?

Want me to come over?

Feeling better?

Stiles didn't respond to any of them, because he knew of he did, Scott would jump in for a conversation, and as much as Stiles loved the guy he really wasn't feeling up to it. But he did decide to listen to some of Scott's voicemails.

'' Hey, you OK? Oh, 'course not…um, whatever, just call me back when you feel like it…bye.''

'' Hey, man, sorry for bothering you, but I just wanted to make sure you're, like, still alive. Not that I think you're suicidal or anything, I was just… uggh, just call me back.''


	2. Chapter 2

I DO NOT OWN TEEN WOLF!

Suicidal?! What the hell, Scott? Stiles knew his friend was just trying to help, but suicidal? Stiles was not suicidal. At least, he didn't think so. Did I take my Adderall yet? Speaking of Adderall, I wonder how it- Nope. Definitely did not take the Adderall.

He trudged down the stairs and rummaged through the cabinets, looking for his Adderall bottle. He searched and searched for what felt like an hour, but was probably five minutes without his Adderall. He was sure he had opened a bottle yesterday, on his way to- oh. He had left it at Derek's. Derek's, where the pack was sure to be. Stiles really didn't want to see them right now, but he really needed his Adderall. To answer the weird voice that kept telling him to open a new one, in his head, the one he opened yesterday was the last one, so…

He sighed and trudged back up the stairs, quickly getting ready. There was a weird thing about his mom. She never wore black to a funeral. He was too young to see the proof, so one day she sat him down and said to him, "where I'm from, we never wear black to a funeral. We wear white. White is for mourning a death. Black is for training" "training for what, mommy?'' ''you'll understand soon." She made him promise to wear white to every funeral he would have to go to. So on her funeral, he wore white. And today, he wore white. Stiles shook his head. He didn't need to start crying again. When he was done, he grabbed his keys and left, not looking forward to the confrontation that was sure to come.

Meanwhile, back at Derek's, the pack was trying to pretend as if they had no clue about Stiles' mom. Which wasn't easy. They were just trying to act normal. But they seemed to have forgotten how to _be _normal. Derek was sitting on a chair, his normally focused and fierce eyes, now nervous and flitting around the room nervously. Lydia, who never let anyone see her cry, had tears running freely down her face. Scott, who was used to this day, was awkward around everyone. Liam was just staring at the floor. Isaac had his face in his hands and he was scrunched up against Derek. Jackson had his arm around Lydia. They weren't together anymore, but they were still close.

Then, suddenly, everyone's head snapped up. That was definitely Stile's scent. But hadn't Scott said he wanted some space? Sure, the house was big, but not big enough for the kind of space he wanted.

''what?'' asked Lydia, who…wasn't a werewolf. " what is it?''

'' It's Stiles." Answered Scott absentmindedly.

''is he okay?''

Nobody answered her. Scott had gotten and was on his way to the door. He threw it open and there was Stiles, his hand up midway to a knock. The door was hidden from the living room, so they had no idea what was going on between Scott and Stiles.

But when Scott came in, followed by Stiles, the pack got a good look at him. And if they weren't able to process the situation before, they certainly weren't going to now. He looked very tired and the dark circles under his eyes were more defined. He wore –what?- white clothes, and he wasn't smiling. His eyes were downcast and red.

''Stiles,'' started Derek, getting up, ignoring Isaac's half-hearted protests. ''what are you doing here?''

Stiles' eyes went to Derek and the alpha reeled back. The normally joyful and intelligent eyes were now sad and filled with grief. '' forgot my Adderall.'' He mumbled, his voice very raspy, motioning to a small bottle of medicine they hadn't even noticed sitting there on the dining table.

Lydia handed it to him, quickly getting up. She was about to pull her hand back, but he grabbed it, eyes slightly wide with concern. ''why are you crying? '' He asked quietly. He looked around at everyone and noticed their long faces.

''what's going on?"


	3. Chapter 3

**I DO NOT OWN TEEN WOLF!**

Stiles sat on a chair in his kitchen and dry-swallowed the Adderall. He turned to look at his clock. 5: 53. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to calm his beating heart. After who cares how long of trying being the operative word, he got up with a growl that unfortunately reminded him of Derek. Which brought his mind back to the scene that had just played out at the Hale house. He didn't want the pack to think he was some sort of weirdo who wore white on a day where he was supposed to wear black, but this was the only day where he got to do whatever he wanted to do, without anyone having the guts to judge him. Not even Jackson. He wondered briefly what they were thinking of him right now, before scolding himself for caring, and going back upstairs.

He sat on his bed, kicked off his shoes, and… and what? What was he supposed to do, curl up on his bed and just keep crying? He certainly wanted to, but he had enough, and the feeling of weakness and emptiness that he always got after crying started catching up to him, so he got up, and just stood in the middle of his room. Then he cast a look at his alarm clock. 5:59.

_If it turns 6:00 in less than 13 seconds, I will curl up on my bed and cry,_ he thought as he stared at the digital alarm. He slowly started counting to 13, and got all the way to 17 before the clock showed 6:00. He pursed his lips and trudged downstairs. It was a thing his mom used to do with him, always with the number 13. When they would go to the park, and he would beg her to have curly fries for dinner, and she would point to the nearest tree and say, _if a squirrel scurries up that tree in less than 13 seconds_, _we'll have curly fries for dinner. _And they would sit there, staring at the tree, hoping for a squirrel to scurry up the tree.

He smiled slightly at the memory as he sat in his living room couch, gazing up at the pictures that didn't show his mother. A few days after Claudia Stilinski passed away, the Sherriff had packed all her things in a frenzy, throwing in clothes with music CDs, pictures with perfume… he just wanted to get rid of everything that reminded him of her. He had even considered burning them, but Stiles had had a tantrum that night, screaming at his father that _it's not fair, you're not the only one who wants her back, at least leave the things she used to love around!_ And John, still wanting to get rid of the objects, had improvised. They wouldn't burn the belongings, just hide them. And Stiles was the one to hide them, because John wanted to pretend they never existed, and Stiles wanted to cuddle with his mother's T-shirts and dresses at night.

He hadn't realized he had been staring at the coffee table for a half hour, until someone knocked on the front door, and Stiles realized it was 6:32. He took a deep breath and opened the door… and felt his eyebrows lift as high as they possibly could.

There stood Scott McCall, Derek Hale, Lydia Martin, Jackson Whittemore, Liam Dunbar and Isaac Lahey, all clutching pillows (or two, in Lydia's case) and a backpack. Everyone (except for Derek) had a hopeful smile on their face.

"Stiles," said Lydia in what was probably supposed to be an "I'm a baby and I want my mommy" voice, "can we sleep over for the weekend? Pweeease?"

Stiles blinked at her. Then, he blinked at the others. Their hopeful smiles got bigger, and Stiles briefly considered slamming the door in their faces. Briefly. He sighed and opened the door wider. "Yay!" said Lydia as she walked past him and up the stairs to what he assumed was his room.

"If any of you use the baby voice on me while you are here, I swear I will find a way to murder you, slowly and painfully."


	4. AN this is why ive been gone so long!

AUTHOR'S NOTE! PLEASE READ IF YOU LIKE THIS STORY! (wow, I really have no words, do I?)

Hi guys, I'm really sorry I haven't posted in a long time but I'm working on some new chapters for both my stories Some Space and Genetic, a week tops! I really hope you like them all, so don't give up on me!

xoxoxooxo NeverTrustTheDucks21


	5. Chapter 4

I DO NOT OWN TEEN WOLF..

When everyone had crowded into the house, all sitting in the living room, Stiles sat in front of them on a chair and flicked his eyes between each one of them, thinking of how this was definitely gonna serve as blackmail later. They looked quite ridiculous, all clutching their pillows tightly, as if scared they would disappear.

"Are you going to tell your dad, or are you just going to stuff us in your room and make up some excuse on why he can't go upstairs?"

Stiles mock-glared at Isaac "My dad's out of town for the weekend. He'll be back on Monday. The house is all ours."

Jackson perked up, probably to suggest a party, but just then, the doorbell rang again. Stiles, puzzled, got up. Who in the world…?

It was the woman next door. She was a nice lady in her mid-40s, and had moved in from France a few months ago. She was still trying to learn English, and Stiles had offered to help with some translation anytime she needed it. She had an apologetic smile on her face. "Bonjour, Stiles. Désolée de vous avoir dérangée." Good morning, Stiles. Sorry to bother you. " Je voulais juste présenter mes condoléances. J'ai entendu qu'aujourd'hui étais l'anniversaire de la mort de votre mère." I just wanted to present my condolences. I heard today was the anniversary of your mother's death. "Si vous avez besoin de quoi que ce soit, j'y suis." If you need anything at all, I'm right here.

Stiles smiled. "Merci, Janette. Je te dirai si j'ai besoin de quelque chose." She smiled again and nodded, turning to leave. He waited until she had descended the stairs to close the door behind her.

When he returned, the pack was staring. Ah. So they had heard the conversation. They were all looking at him with different expressions that said the same thing. What the hell?

"you speak French?" cried Lydia.

"why don't I know you speak French?" echoed Scott.

"Why do you speak French?" questioned Derek.

Stiles walked over to the chair he been on and sat back as the packs questions jumped over each other. After a good 15 minutes, the chatter died down, and Lydia spoke first:

"You speak French?" she asked incredulously. Stiles lifted his eyes from the table he had been staring at. He shrugged, rolling his eyes. "obviously."

Scott was next. "Why? I mean…Where did you learn?" Stiles smiled slightly at his best friend's spluttering, but it faded quickly. "My mom taught me." "Was she French?" asked Isaac softly. Stiles thought about lying. Then he backtracked. Why would he lie? They were his pack, they had a right to know. "Actually, she was plenty of things. She spoke a lot of languages, but the only ones she taught me were French, Spanish, Arabic and Russian." He answered, counting on his fingers.

"Why don't I know this?" cried Scott, flinging his hands in the air and sending the pillow flying into the kitchen. Stiles shrugged, completely unfazed by the flying pillow. "You never asked." Scott spluttered, but didn't say anything.

Jackson's eyes flitted between the pack's faces. "Okay, so what are we going to do all day long?" Lydia's eyes lit up like they always did when she had an idea. "Let's look into that spark thing Deaton was talking about."

"What do you mean 'look into it'?" asked Stiles, putting his arms on his knees and sitting forward, interlocking his fingers together. Lydia grinned "I mean, let's do some tests. What if you have an ability?" And eyebrows went up. "I'm serious. Remember that thing you did with the mountain ash? How nobody could do that but you? I caught up on some reading, and only witches can do that." At that, Stiles blanched. He let out a nervous laugh and rubbed his neck. He was starting to have tunnel vision. "Witches?" he laughed, shaking his head and sitting backwards. "Magic? Please, Lyds, you're starting to sound like my mother."

Lydia's eyes got wider.

"what if your mom was a witch too?" Stiles was already shaking his head "why not?" challenged Lydia, ignoring Scott's wide-eyed shake of the head.

Stiles exhaled, and the werewolves heard his heartbeat quicken and felt his anxiety levels go through the roof. They exchanged a glance and readied themselves.

Stiles opened his eyes. When had he closed his eyes? He was in a hospital, standing in the middle of a dimly lit corridor. He stared at a door in front of him and he knew- he just _knew_\- that his mother was in there, slowly dying. He swallowed and stepped forward, the sound echoing through the dark hallway. He reached out his hand tentatively, as if waiting for someone to shout 'Stop!' But the hospital was deserted. He touched the door handle and shivered. It was so cold. Nobody had been here in a while. He turned it and paused, waiting for the person inside to call him out. Silence. He took a deep breath and pushed open the door, stepping inside. His eyes widened, filling with tears.

Claudia was sitting up on her hospital bed, smiling tiredly at her nine year old son, who was fast asleep on a chair by her. She reached out a shaking hand and stroked his light hair softly.

Her own hair, once a lively blond and reaching down to her waist, now a dull yellow and had been cut to a blunt stop at her chin. Her eyes, once the color of molten gold and rimmed with a touch of paint and color from her many art projects, now a scarily eerie tawny and rimmed with extremely defined dark circles. Her voice, once vivacious and sparkly and constantly in use, now raspy and tired from unusual lack of use.

Stiles stood for a good 15 minutes staring at her. He wondered briefly how it was possible for him to be there, but then his mother spoke.

"My little Scezny," she wispered, using his full name, "I love you so much, baby." She tilted her head down and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. She smiled, and Stiles wanted to cry. It was the smile she always had on before she was diagnosed. "But you need to understand something, my sweet. You are Magik. I am Magik. It is a great privilege, but there will come a day where it will cause you great suffering at the hands of others. You see, they would want to use your power to their advantage. It is for your own good that I block all memories of your abilities from you." Silent tears dripped down her cheeks. "Don't fret, my little one. You will know what it is to feel the great Power of Magik once again. But you must be patient. This day has been engraved into your mind, and once triggered will be seen." The hand that wasn't stroking his hair reached down and grasped nine year old Stiles' own, and Stiles' eyes immediately drew to her fingers.

His mother played the piano, another thing she had taught him to do, and her fingers used to be long and willowy, with perfectly manicured nails. She never put any makeup or any nail polish, she used to say they would never bring the true beauty of a young woman. And Stiles agreed whole-heartedly. After her diagnosis, she would get night terrors, like the ones Stiles always has, and would scratch herself bloody if anyone tried to restrain her, resulting in her hands and nails being plastered and gnawed at.

But that's not why Stiles was staring at them now. He was staring at them because they were glowing. Not glowing as in healthy and beautiful, more like…glowing like the sun. A purple fog surrounded his mother's hand, grasped in his own. She released his hand and pressed two fingers to his forehead, muttering in a language that sounded like the one she would scream during her nightly terrors.

"What the hell?" mumbled the confused teenager. Claudia turned to him, and he stepped back in shock. Her eyes, her beautiful golden eyes, much like his own, that had turned bored and tired over the years, were now completely white. Suddenly, she started shaking, and her body fell back on her bed, convulsing violently.

The younger Stiles, who had somehow managed to stay asleep during her speech, finally jolted awake, and for a moment Stiles thought he saw the same purple glow in his eyes, but then he was screaming for help, shaking his mother. Stiles backed away. He remembered this part, and he didn't want to live through it again. The Nogitsune had done some terrible things to him, but this was worse than anything the Nogitsune could do, because this was Stiles' own doing.

He shook his head and a terrible thought struck him. He was vaguely aware of doctors and nurses bursting through the door. He stared down at his hands. One, two, three, four, five. Next hand. Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. _No. _

He stared at the scene in front of him. The doctors who had been bustling around his mom had their heads down. His younger self had his head on his mother's chest, his hands fisted in her hospital gown, sobbing loudly. His father burst through the door, like the doctors and nurses had a moment ago, and Stiles closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he wasn't staring at his strong father who was too late, or at his broken self sobbing freely for his mother, who no longer had glowing hands, or glowing eyes, or glowing anything.

He was staring at the worried faces of his friends.

He was sitting in a chair, and the pack was on the couch in front of him, except Scott who had kneeled in front of him. "What happened?" he asked, clutching his head, words slurring together. "you zoned out for a few." Answered Derek. "Do you remember anything?"

Stiles nodded. "yeah, sure I…" his eyes caught something and he scrunched his eyebrows. "Why are there pillows in my living room?"

Nobody answered, but the looks they exchanged told him he should know.


	6. Chapter 5

dont own it nope..

"Stiles," said Scott gently "Don't you remember? We came over for a sleepover." Stiles' eyebrows lifted "Why?" he asked curiously.

Lydia bit her lip. Scott cast his eyes downward. Derek pursed his lips. Isaac hid a grimace. Jackson rubbed his neck awkwardly. Liam swallowed, eyes flitting nervously.

"what?" demanded Stiles, noticing their expressions "What is it?" Scott sighed "Do you remember what day it is today?" Stiles stared at him like he was crazy. "Sure I do, it's…" he trailed off, eyes widening in recognition. "Oh, yeah. Sorry, guys, I don't know what came over me." He shared a look with Scott. They both knew this was the dementia starting to take over his mind. "How long did I zone out for?" he asked. "Just a few minutes." "Really?" breathed Stiles, surprised. "It seemed like more."

"Where did you go?" wondered Lydia. Stiles tilted his head in thought. "Well, I'm not sure where I went, but I know what I saw. I'm not sure if it was even real." "What did you see?" Stiles took a deep breath and closed his eyes, pretending to struggle to remember, but the scene was on replay in his mind. "I was standing in the middle of a hospital, there was no one there. There's a door in front of me, so naturally, I go through it. My mom is on a hospital bed. There was me, nine years old, sleeping in a chair next to her. She starts stroking my hair and she says she loves me. Then she says I need to understand that-" he pauses, unsure of how to proceed "she said 'You are magic. I am magic.' And that it was a big privilege. But some people wanted to get a hold of it, and to do that they would try and hurt me. She said it was for my own good that she was blocking all the memories of my abilities from me. Then, and here's where it gets good, she takes my little nine year old hand and it…starts…glowing. She presses two fingers to my forehead and says some weird language. She tells me that someday I will be able to feel the magic again, but that I had to be patient. 'This day has been engraved into your mind, and once triggered will be remembered'. She turns to, well me," he gestures to himself, opening his eyes, but refusing to look at any of them "and her eyes are completely white. I'll spare you the details, and she died." He stared at his hands. "I checked my fingers to make sure, and there were ten." Scott was the only one who understood what he was talking about. "What does that mean, Scott?" he lifted his eyes to his best friend's. "How is that possible that I was here, but I was there?"

Scott shook his head. "Stiles," said Lydia softly, and Stiles and Scott both jumped, as if they had forgot the others were there. "I think maybe you should see Deaton."

Stiles weighed his options. On one hand, he could try this 'great ability' of his, and if they were as strong as his mother had made them out to be, he would no longer be considered the weak human anymore. But his mother's warning rang in his ears. _It will cause you great suffering at the hands of others. _It seemed he had already suffered enough. What did he have to lose?

"Okay. Let's go see Deaton."

"hmm." Stiles bit his lip to keep himself from snapping at the normally calm veterinarian. It had been no less than two hours ago that the group-minus Jackson-had rushed over to the clinic so they could find out what the hell was only-just-starting-to happen to Stiles. Having given him a quick rundown of his…dream? Memory? Message from the beyond…? All Deaton had to say was "hmm". "Can you stop doing that?" snapped Derek. Bless him, thought Stiles, for always saying exactly what was on his mind.

Deaton slowly lifted his head, distracted by whatever it was that he was thinking about.

"Sorry, it's just…I thought this would develop when you were a bit younger, that's all."

Say what now? "I'm sorry, what?" asked Stiles, getting up from the surprisingly comfortable chair he had been sitting on. "You knew about all this…this, whatever it is?"

"Of course," answered the Druid calmly "your mother and I were great friends, you know? She always loved helping out with all the crazy cases I would get once in a while." He smiled, as if he wasn't about to be subject to an earful from Stiles.

"Oh, really? And why didn't you mention this before?" was the calm before the storm.

"Because,'' answered Deaton, "you needed to understand it by yourself."

Stiles' left eye twitched. He really didn't feel like listening to this crap right now. He just wanted to know two things.

Thing the first: Why the hell was he suddenly developing psycho powers…that hadn't even proven themselves to be real yet?

Thing the second: How – in THE hell – did Deaton know his mom, and her psycho powers?

Stiles took a deep breath to calm himself. It didn't work. He shook his head and tried to focus on the matter at hand. His mom had psycho powers. Apparently, these psycho powers were genetic. To top it all off, the only thing Deaton found surprising was the fact that he was a little late in developing them. Because obviously.

"OK, OK." He put his fingers on his forehead to try and postpone the headache he _knew _was coming. "so, my mom was…what? a witch or something?" When the vet answered with a (really, it was stupid on his part.) "You need to find out for yourself." Stiles finally, _finally _ blew up. "Find…Are you...You're kidding me, right? Why. In THE Hell. Would I want to ''find out for myself'' he used the most exaggerated air quotes ever known to humanity. "I mean, if I wanted to find out for myself, I wouldn't be here, I would kinda be in my strictly non-magical room, in front of my decidedly non-magical computer, researching this unfortunately magical…whatever this is!" he could feel a panic-attack coming on, and he was pretty sure the others could feel it too, because they stared at him with the look that said his eyes were slightly more crazy than they were twenty seconds ago.

Deaton sighed, obviously realizing his mistake. ''Forgive me. What I meant to say was, you need to go down this road by yourself, but I could help you figure it out.''

Stiles stared at him. "OK. Well, then…can you tell me what my mom was?" Deaton hesitated, looking around at the others. "I'm not so sure you would want them to know until you understand the full extent of your…abilities."

Stiles' eyebrow scrunched in confusion, whereas the others' eyebrows went up in slight indignation.

"No way." Said Scott forcefully. Or as forcefully as Scott could ever say anything. "We're staying."

"Guys." Interrupted Stiles before the others could back up the True Alpha. "Maye you should just go. He must have a reason to hesitate like this. Don't worry, I'll tell you about it."

It took at least half an hour, but the pack left. It took another 20 minutes for Stiles to throw Scott and Derek out of the parking lot.

"Okay," said Stiles, turning to face the druid, "what the hell am I?"

"It's complicated."

"…Of course it is…"


	7. Author's note

AUTHOR'S NOTE.

So i had previously made a big mistake and posted one chapter before the next, but i've fixed that up and added a few new chapters! hope you haven't forgotten about me, enjoy!


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